


Canary

by hellhoundsprey



Series: spn kink bingo 2020 [18]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Barebacking, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Car Sex, Cock Cages, Collars, Cuckolding, Dom Jensen Ackles, Dom/sub, Gangbang, Grooming, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Outdoor Sex, Power Imbalance, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Spitroasting, Sub Jared Padalecki, Top Jensen Ackles, Unreliable Narrator, Unsafe Sex, pre-discussed consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25030552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: They’re in that butterfly-belly stage, still. Jared never wants it to end.2020 kink bingo square 03: dom/sub
Relationships: Jared Padalecki/Other(s), Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: spn kink bingo 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602964
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Canary

**Author's Note:**

> This Jared is 18 but this Jensen is kind of a prick and remarkably older (40), so I tagged accordingly. All but one sexual aspect was approved of by Jared during pre-discussed consent talk. Said one aspect is not a physical thing (yet) and is mentioned during a scene where Jared is free/encouraged to safeword. Jensen takes his signs and wellbeing and consent very seriously through the entire experience and Jared enjoys himself (a lot).
> 
> ...
> 
> Jensen's still a prick.

Jared’s lip quivers.

He needs to make a sound so bad he wishes he’d asked to be gagged.

His fingers can’t even curl he’s tied down so perfectly. Can only watch Jensen pumping the fleshlight on his oversensitive cock over and over, so slick with lube the noises are obscene in the otherwise tense silence.

Jensen’s apartment is neat, meticulous. Jared knows there’s a cleaning person, once a week. Always so spotless.

Jared’s gonna have to wipe the table down, after this.

Jared draws a surprised breath at the gentle, warm hand closing around his nuts.

Oh, Jesus— “Don’t.”

The fleshlight fucks down quicker while that hand kneads at him like a beckoning.

Tears rise into Jared’s eyes.

His abs shake with the strain. His entire body. He can’t take much more. Just a little bit more and he’ll…

Jensen’s fingers dip lower, down his taint and into the creamed-up heat of his asshole.

Jared’s throat produces something like a bark and Jensen bottoms the fleshlight out on him. Presses it down hard enough to bruise Jared’s pubic bone, maybe (in Jared’s twisted mind) and Jared gulps for air, helpless.

Held still, unmoving. Jensen’s in him up to his knuckles; motionless here, too, waiting it out.

So so _so_ fucking close.

“I’ll pull them out now.”

Jared whimpers.

“Yeah?”

Wobbly, “Yeah,” and god, he doesn’t know how he makes it through without blowing.

Jensen leans in to kiss him on the mouth. Licks and nurses at him until he’s all tender and relaxed and still so fucking horny out of his mind. But the paused stimulus did its part and Jensen can slop the toy off Jared’s cock without much strain on Jared’s part.

A shy gush of lube from inside the toy and Jared stares down his body. Tries hitching his hips, chasing the fleshlight. His cock is so heavy with blood it’s goddamn _purple_.

Jensen chuckles.

“Good fucking boy.”

Jared’s usually flying during the clean-up. Sways where he stands, leaning back against the table, still dizzy from the bondage being removed and the blood flow and his cock still so fucking engorged he can’t imagine it soft. Can’t imagine it going down, ever, with how full it feels.

Jensen sinks to his knees like a dream.

Wipes at Jared’s cock with that lukewarm, damp washcloth and Jared’s mindlessly gripping the edge of the table as he reminds his hips to keep fucking _still_.

Jensen’s sole, focused attention on his cock has Jared humming, low and pleased, and Jensen scoffs at the fresh swell of precome.

Wipes at the tip with the cloth, once and effective—presses a mean, pillow-soft kiss to the side of the shaft.

“C’mon, let’s get you dressed.”

Jared’s tingly all over. Still has that fuck-me face going on, apparently, because Jensen’s wearing that smug little grin that never fails to kick Jared in the ribs (centered, slightly left to his breastbone).

Wearing clothes makes it worse. Multiplies the pleasure with cotton shifting all over him, and Jensen, the ass, makes a scene out of cupping his balls, kissing his mouth so sweet while his grip tightens, and tightens, and tightens.

Jared groans, all honest.

“Need me to get some ice?”

“No, jus’… Gimme a second.”

Jensen slurps into his mouth until Jared sighs. Arms around Jensen’s neck, legs casually parted for Jensen’s knee. Always.

“For real,” pleads Jared, and Jensen laughs at him and into his cheek.

Jared chuckles back, weakly, surrounded by Jensen’s cologne, the safe wall of Jensen’s bulk of a body.

With enough time, his dick wilts despite the odds. Enough, at least, for Jensen to thread the cage back on. The lock snaps closed and Jared shivers so hard his nipples hurt; Jensen’s fingers find one of them, easily, while he coos like he’s sorry with his other hand lingering around Jay’s balls. Cups and tugs until Jared’s hips roll; abandons, then.

Jensen’s hand travels from chest to throat. Not a true grip, simply a whisper of a touch. The tips of his fingers press just underneath Jared’s jaw to tilt and direct. Doesn’t take much to make Jared bow to his will.

They kiss again, and Jared’s not gonna take his hand off Jensen’s hip until he will be forced to.

~

Love makes you very fucking stupid. That’s the only excuse Jared’s got.

It makes you weak and soft and you run into things and you fall over your own feet.

Luckily, these are all things Jensen Ackles entirely adores about him.

It’s a vicious cycle.

There’s ketchup in the corner of Jensen’s mouth Jared could wax poetry on for at least one century but Jensen licks it away after the obligatory, “Eat up.”

Jared takes another empty bite out of his Chicken Club Deluxe to sate the man.

Even in this ratty little corner diner, Jensen’s got history. Knows the owner and everything. The food would be awesome even not-post-sex, without gorgeous company. Red-white checkerboard curtains, laminated menus. The staff wears old-school uniforms and Elvis drawls from the ancient speakers. Jensen always knows the best spots and places.

“I’ll drop you off at the gas station, that okay? Got a meeting at five.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.”

“Great,” and Jared beams for it, forever and ever and ever.

They’re in that butterfly-belly stage, still. Jared never wants it to end.

In Jensen’s BMW, passenger seat. Hand on that thigh because that’s his, and Jensen’s turning to look at him at a red light. There’s a plethora of songs to be sung about how he looks at Jared. How he sees nothing _but_ Jared, clearly, and it shouldn’t be this cheesy. This perfect.

Smile-curved lips, helpless: “Who allowed you to be this handsome, huh?” and Jared kisses him on the mouth while Brendon Urie sings about drugs.

Jensen’s present enough to not hold up traffic. He’s considerate like that, always.

Licks his lips like he wants more, though, like Jared. Like it’s never enough for him either.

“God.”

Thumb to Jared’s sore lower lip without looking; dragging. Jared smiles.

“Wish we had a little more time. Miss that fucking mouth already.”

“Just a little, then.” Jared’s hand slips higher to get a hold of Jensen’s crotch. “Just a minute. Two.”

Jensen murmurs, “Shit,” and his eyes flicker from traffic to Jared. Jared can feel him chubbing up against the warmth of his palm. “Okay.

Okay, two minutes.”

Jared’s shift starts in ten.

His gap year is going real fucking great so far.

The press of Jensen’s cock into the back of his throat feels extra-wide in the limited space of the car. In the heat with the engine off, secretive in the sparse shadow the nearby building provides.

Jared’s safe sucking dick in random parking lots because Jensen’s here, Jensen’s got him. Hand on the back of his head and pushing, guiding, and Jared does that play-pretend swallow that never truly manages to become real, not around the fat push of Jensen’s cock.

“Jesus. Baby.”

Tug on his hair; he raises his head just enough so Jensen can thrust his hips upwards, can take control. Hands-free and Jared’s lashes drip wet over designer denim, just a shy drip-drip-drop because there’s not much time and Jensen drags him off before he’s even truly started his efforts. Jensen Ross Ackles is intensely anal about being late for _anything_.

Again, “Jesus,” and Jensen tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up.

Jared waits it out, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he smiles.

Jensen announces, “Gonna be the death of me,” and licks his taste back from Jared’s tongue, and Jared loves him an unhealthy amount. He does.

Hand to Jared’s cheek; darling. “See you on Sunday?”

“Sunday,” mirrors Jared, mindless, and gets his last puckered kiss before they have to part.

Stumbling out of Jensen’s car never gets old. Always feels like a first time, like he’s special. He tugs his hair behind his ear and waves shily as Jensen pulls out of the parking lot, away from him.

Thank god it’s Friday.

~

“Honey, you’re doing that thing again that we talked about.”

Jared re-stows his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, murmurs, “Sorry,” as his mother sets the casserole down onto the dinner table.

“That poor girl,” jokes Dad, and Jared smiles politely.

“She’s probably ugly,” croons Jeff, and Mom elbows him for that. “What, if he never brings her over?”

“Her parents just wanna keep her safe; I get it.” Dad thuds into Jared’s shoulder, and Jared shoves some food behind his teeth to muffle himself. “Old-school, aren’t they?”

Jared nods fiercely as he swallows some potatoes. “Very,” he agrees. “Very strict.”

~

 _you’re gonna set it on high and hump it_  
snug against your taint sweetheart  
you’re doing it?

Jared’s _doing_ his best to type six entire letters over the insistent buzz of his (Jensen-sponsored) magic wand.

The way it presses into his nuts on the upstrokes is…

_good boy._

Jared’s cheek rests against his pillow. Flat on his stomach, he works himself red-headed by moving his hips alone.

Not enough to get him off, no way in hell. Luckily, that’s not the point. Hasn’t been in three weeks.

His phone buzzes again.

Jared reaches for it to devour the new text. He’s never left alone long enough to get a chance of dwelling in their chat logs.

Four weeks. That’s a month. An entire month already and Jensen makes it feel like a lifetime in the best kind of way.

_god I can’t wait to see you again baby_

Jensen’s dick pics could make a grown man cry, and poor Jared’s only been an adult for four weeks and a half.

~

It’s safest to let Jensen pick him up at work. Jared’s family is just nosy enough that, once they’d spot him hanging out with someone who can afford Jensen’s taste in cars, they will ask questions and/or make Jared take regular drug tests. Jensen could talk himself out of everything, of course, but Jared doesn’t want to inconvenience him more than necessary.

Last thing Jared wants is for anything about him to be _an inconvenience_.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Kiss, beaming smile. Jared’s shitty five-hour gas station shift dissolves into pink, heart-shaped clouds on the very edge of his finally Jensen-dominated horizon.

“You hungry?”

“Not really, you?”

“I could go for a coffee, actually.”

“Coffee, sure.” Jared nods as he buckles his seatbelt.

Jensen plucks at the neckline of his uniform shirt and scoffs. “Cute.”

Self-conscious, honest: “Didn’t wanna let you wait.”

Jensen’s fingers play with his name tag.

Jared sits back. Grins over at him. “Or…I can just leave it on?”

Jensen hums, “How ’bout you change right now?”

“In the car?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

Jared fishes for his backpack in the backseat. The car sets into motion and they’re on the street by the time he pulls his shirt over his head. He picks his designated spare tee out of the depth of his bag and proceeds to struggle into it despite the seatbelt.

He had worn this one on their second date. Skin-tight, black. Jared’s not much into clothing that touches more of himself than necessary, but he’s more than willing to compromise if it gives Jensen that certain glint in his eye.

“Mm, good choice.”

Jensen’s always watching him when they’re together. Even right now, eyes on the road, his peripheral is all Jared’s.

Jensen asks him, “Anything you wanna do today?” with his eyes up front, one beautifully manicured hand on the steering wheel, the other cupping Jared’s knee.

“Uh, just you. Mostly.”

Jared’s boyfriend has the most dream-inducing laugh.

~

Jensen’s mouth always tastes clean.

Like coffee or mint or both. Chewing gum, unsweetened almond milk.

They’re kissing a lot. Jared’s exes never were too into that. Never felt like this, like it does with Jensen.

A hand between his legs. Jensen’s mouth is still coffee-heated.

Jensen tilts Jared’s seat backwards for him.

Jared murmurs, “Here?” and Jensen nods, silently, smilingly.

Jared lies back, attempts to relax. His heartbeat is always a little off around Jensen.

Fingers play-pretend around Jensen’s wrist, feather along the Rolex. Lip-licked, “What if someone sees us?”

He’s promised, “Nobody comes out here,” and Jensen’s mouth closes over his own, again. Drowns out every thought just like the palm layering itself around Jared’s throat—possessive, casual. Jensen smiles into the kiss. “Goin’ off like a tiny bird, right here,” baby-squeeze, and Jared swallows for it. “Nervous?”

“Just a little.”

It’s quiet inside the car with the radio turned off, the windows rolled all the way up. A bit off the highway, parked into a patch of dirt overlooking a hiking path. No trees nearby for tweeting animals. Summer’s been dry and cruel so far.

Jensen asks, “You trust me, right?” and Jared nods, of course he does. Gets those lips back as a reward, heavy and pressing, this time, with Jensen leaning into him for real. Like he’d like to crawl inside and rest.

Drift of thumb along Jared’s chin, Jared’s lip.

Jensen looms above him. The limited space should make anyone look awkward, but Jensen’s got exceptional rights here as well.

Jared blinks, lazily, drowning.

Quiet, “Can you reach my left-hand pocket?”

Jared’s Jensen-crotch hand slips to the side and around, searching—finds the thick seam of a pocket, forces inside the tight fit.

Jared’s lashes flutter.

Jensen’s expression warps into sweetness.

Again, “Out here?” kiss-muffled and he’s pulling the item free, and it’s not like he’s not into it. Has to ask because he needs to know he’s not misunderstanding things, doesn’t put words into Jensen’s mouth.

“That all right?” Jared nods again, so Jensen can tell him, “Good boy,” and kiss him some more.

The collar travels from Jared’s hand into Jensen’s. He laces it around Jared’s neck and buckles it tight, and Jared’s caged dick weeps in advancing conditioning.

Jensen hums, “Been thinkin’ about this,” and, yeah, they’ve talked about it. Like they talk about all kinds of stuff—fantasies and thoughts and late-night pillow talk, somewhere between ordering cookies and Jensen’s umpteenth bump of blow. Didn’t take long for Jared to understand that Jensen always means what he says.

Jensen knees between Jared’s parting legs. Dangerous, when he climbs you like that—two-hundred pounds, give or take. Jen—Jensen—is capable of many-a thing.

Jared’s not a girl but he has his ways to get wet, too.

Teeth and beard and Jared’s lashes flutter.

“I wanna make you cry,” admits Jensen, quietly, confidently, and Jared’s heart kicks at him. “That okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Wet-sharp slip of teeth and they bear _down_. Dig into skin and Jared gulps on empty, and the pressure builds and builds and he hisses, and he tenses. Jensen gets a hand on his temple and shoves to gain more space, to bend Jared like he needs.

Jared whimpers behind his very own set of clenched teeth.

As per usual, Jensen lets up once he’s satisfied.

“So sweet for me.”

Jared swallows despite the ache, despite the hand closing around his throat anew, tighter this time. Clenches right below his jaw and he groans, eyes flying shut, and his hands come down next to his shoulders, out of the way. They slip down the edge of the seat, though. Too little space.

Jensen helps. Gathers two wrists in one hand and pulls them up above Jared’s head. Angles them until Jared’s elbows point heavenwards and he says, “Stay just like that,” and Jared hums, agrees, yes, anything.

The collar is code. Means they are playing, and Jared’s role is to do whatever he’s told. To lay back and not think, just let it happen. Jensen practiced safe-wording with him that first time.

Jensen’s hand drags from wrists to arms to chest. Swivels over the soft material of Jared’s shirt, the hard points of his nipples. He sticks around here, teases and plucks until Jared groans from low down his throat, squirms against the knee pressed up against his balls. Arousal with nowhere to go, thanks to the cage force-keeping him limp. Jared’s drunk on it so fucking fast, these days.

“Lift your head.”

Jared does. Gets his shirt pulled over his head and Jensen leaves it twisted up in his armpits. Adds a certain tension and pull, like that, and the fabric feels fucking _nice_.

“So cute.” Both hands on Jared’s tits now, milking at him. Jared’s eyes roll behind their lids. “You thought about it yet?”

Jared slurs, “Yeah?” and gets his mouth licked. God, he’s so fucking warm inside.

“My bud’s free next week, if you’re up for it.”

Jared pleads, “You gonna come with?” and gets,

“Of course, baby.” Another kiss. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Drift of eyes, and Jensen’s so so close. So dark and soothing and big, and Jared loves him so fucking much. “That a yes?”

“Uh, maybe? I’m scared it’ll hurt...”

“’Course it’s gonna hurt, that’s the whole point.” A rough thumb over a nipple and Jared shudders, surrenders. Lets Jensen nose behind his ear, down his throat. “Gonna look so fucking good, though. Not gonna be able to keep my hands off ’em. Gonna play with ’em until you’re fucking sobbing.”

Jared groans somewhere between desperate want and honest horror.

He wants, he wants.

Can always take them out, after all, if he does end up not liking ’em.

“Keep thinkin’,” muses Jensen with his mouth ghosting over a yet unharmed patch of skin. “No rush.”

Jensen’s mouth can spill honey and tear you open at the same time. Or, alternating. Is capable of many wonders in general.

Warm, searching hands down Jared’s stomach, thumb to his navel; edging along the waistband of his jeans.

“You wearin’ it?” and Jared nods with proud dutifulness. “Good fucking boy.”

There are depths Jensen’s voice only hits for occasions like this. Situations that usually involve Jared’s lower body and the many possibilities Jensen can manipulate it to suit his personal needs. Jensen’s not an egoistic man, per se; honest.

Jared gets his jeans undone, pulled down. Jensen helps him get one of his legs up, frees him of his pants and dumps those into the footwell. Croons, pleased, with Jared’s leg hiked over his shoulder, easily. There wasn’t much pride or practical reason to be had in being bendy until Jared met Jensen.

Press of fingers against the base of the plug; rubbing, exploring.

“You go to work like that, just because someone tells you to.”

Jared sighs as he nods.

The fingers shift until they can get a hold of the toy. Knuckles against Jared’s taint and the plug pumps in-out in short, careful motions that escalate quick and quicker, naturally.

Jared’s ignored cock drools behind stainless steel bars.

Whispered, “Please,” despite them being alone. Despite his ass sucking remarkably louder than his voice, despite Jensen’s expression screaming voiceless things, hungry things.

The plug presses in, hard, and Jared groans with the ache of it.

“Gonna ruin my seats with how fucking wet you are.”

A stray slap to the inside of Jared’s thigh; hard enough to make him jump, pull him out of his trance.

“Get that ass out of the car. Move.”

The air is thickly warm, outside.

Jared stumbles with Jensen’s aid. Gets spun and kissed and a string of precome finds the inside of his thigh just like his palm finds the damp heat in the front of Jensen’s jeans.

Crunch of the heels of Jensen’s dress shoes in the dirt. The hitch of Jared’s own voice upon Jensen unzipping his fly to let him worm his greedy spider-fingers in there.

The weight of Jensen’s hand on his shoulder is enough to send him to his knees in the grass.

Jensen looks down in utter admiration, utter devotion. Mumbles, “Fuck,” and Jared’s wrapping his teeth, gets his tongue out to let him slide deep. Hands flat on Jensen’s thighs because there are _rules_ to stick to when they’re like this; he knows, and he _can_ be good.

They’ve been practicing enough that he doesn’t heave, not even by almost-kissing the well-kept stubble of Jensen’s pubes.

“Fuck, yes.”

One hand in Jared’s hair, the back of his head. Helps him going rougher, urges him on. Tears coat Jared’s lashes and it’s good, so fucking good. He’d probably not be able to stop even if someone pulled up right next to them.

The thought hits good. Hits deep.

Jared’s spine straightens, lengthens. Jensen uses his throat like it’s just another hole for him to own; and it _is_.

“Fuck.” Jensen laughs, high up. “How do I deserve you, huh? Jesus fucking Christ, look at you.”

The tell-tale of Jensen fumbling for his phone has Jared blinking up at him. Has him heating to a different layer of hot, adds some more blood to his already-flushed face because, god, it’s the most flattering and humiliating thing to be taped by Jensen fucking Ackles.

That he’s somehow worthy to be recorded. To be looked at, later.

“Fuck, take it,” and Jensen sounds strangled, sounds in-love and Jared does his best, loses himself in it and floats, empty, overfull.

He’s out of it by the time Jensen tugs him backwards by his hair. Yanks at him to get to his feet, and Jared surely doesn’t know for shit how he manages to achieve the latter.

He’s push-guided until he collides with something—solid, warm; wood? A table, picnic bench.

“Here, wait.”

Jensen donates his five-hundred-bucks sweater prior to heaving Jared on top of the heavily weathered furniture. Pushes him flat to his back with one hand on his tit and Jared grunts, disoriented, and opens his eyes for a clear blue sky, the sting of a midday sun, high up above and watching.

Jensen yanks him down until his ass hangs off the edge just-so.

Slurred, “Fuck,” and Jensen’s got him; makes him hold his arms up above his head until he returns with some rope he apparently brought with him in the trunk, a blindfold, too, and Jared spirals further into la-la-land.

Rope slings around his arms, his legs. Wraps him up safe and sound, tight and just-right on the uncomfortable scale—his arms pull straight down and his legs are folded and fixed to have him spread open, lets him maybe get a tan where the sun shouldn’t reach any honorable guy. But this is Jared, with two boyfriend-fingers pushing down on his tongue.

“What would you do, huh? If someone came by right now, saw you like that?” and Jared moans, and Jensen fixes the blindfold on him to stay in place, no matter what. “Couldn’t do anything, could you, now?”

Jensen adds a third, and Jared can’t even shake his head right he’s pulled so taut.

Gets that other hand pushed straight past his junk and his overfull balls, down his completely hairless taint. (Jensen’s a bitch for details like that; admitted that early and helped Jared wax it not much later. Jensen’s not too good with personal boundaries, and Jared really fucking loves him for it.)

The plug comes free, this time.

Jared’s hips hitch up against nothing, and Jensen chuckles.

“Anybody who’d come by…! And you couldn’t do shit about it.”

Jared lips quivers over the plastic-pump of their favorite brand of lube. Over the slick thwack of fist on cock, and he whimpers, “Please,” and Jensen’s got him, of course.

Presses into Jared’s held-open body, easily, casually; one hand steading his dick and the other holding onto Jared’s hip, and Jared’s very fucking grateful for the size of the plug now, he truly is.

Choked grunts, because Jensen’s perpetually huge for him.

That first push inside always feels impossible until it no longer is.

Jensen grinds them pelvis-to-taint like he can’t feel the insane depth as well, and Jared shudders wet in his restraints.

Can’t move an inch, not at all, and Jared gasps for it; the realization, the sheer fucking thrill of it all.

Of course, Jensen’s got his personal carte blanche to fuck him up however he likes, but there’s nothing quite like being this drastically reminded of the reality of it.

Jared feels his guts working, his asshole nursing all blindly, all choked-up.

“Fuck, I’m—”

“No, you don’t.”

Heavy balls slap at his tailbone and Jared’s positively, immediately boneless.

“Not yet.”

There’s no understanding of time. Of anything, really, when they’re like this. When all that exists is the rhythmic pounding to Jared’s insides, deep enough for it to hurt on an emotional level. When Jensen carves him out, stretches him on his fat, wet cock, and all Jared can do about it is let it happen.

Can lie there and moan and forget he’s human. That he’s his own person, not a Jensen-Jared-fused thing that only exists for _this_. _Because_ _of_ this.

A garbled plea upon Jensen gathering Jared’s junk in one cruel hand; strangling it off and out of the way and the bitten-off, “Don’t you fucking come,” and the pain helps, it does.

A break, eventually; heavy-breathed and Jensen keeps a thumb on the swollen lip of his hole as he pulls out, and after.

Slaps his slimed cock down over it and grunts, amused.

“Beautiful.”

Jared’s lost all coherent language.

Just pants there with his ass out in this deserted parking lot, with sweat burning in the bites littering his throat, his tits. His hands could go as far as curl around the edge of the table, but that’s about it.

Can’t even lift his head.

Jensen makes a love-sound upon forcing the head of his cock back in. Slides in short, lazy thrusts, and Jared’s got a feeling he’s got his phone out again.

“Remember that other thing we talked about?”

Jared groans his blind agreement. Or, just groans, in general. He can’t think, not with Jensen’s hands and cock and attention on him.

“’Cause I remember pretty vividly.”

A thought plucks at Jared’s stream of consciousness. Has him hitching, somewhere in his chest, and he draws a breath.

He whimpers.

“Exactly.”

“Fuck, _fuck_ …”

“You want it? You can have it.” Slow-slide of hands, of cock, of voice. “One text, Jay. All it takes.”

Jared’s thrumming. Is gonna cry. “Jen…” and Jensen’s breath is close, near his nose, his chin.

“Your call, babe,” and he sounds so fucking soft, so fucking gentle with how he says it. Like he’d give Jared everything, anything, if only he’d ask.

Jared strains his, “Yes,” and gets the little breath he’s got left kissed from his mouth. Gets Jensen roaring like a storm, feels that entire face tightening and stretches as far as he can to meet him, feel him.

“Need you to be sure; you fucking sure, Jared?” and Jared uh-huhs under the growing slap of Jensen’s body against his, shudders with how impossibly harder Jensen’s dick gets crammed up all deep in his guts. “Can stop anytime. Anytime, you hear?”

Jared chokes, “Yes, yeah,” and he can’t hear Jensen tapping away on his phone, but he must have, must be.

His heart is gonna beat out of his mouth.

He’s dizzy with the sun and sex and prospect of what’s about to go down.

He didn’t even exactly _mean_ that one. Not, like… Well, technically, he did.

But some ideas your brain entertains only at a certain degree of asphyxiation.

It’s a distant sound, and he doesn’t notice or identify it at first. But as it grows closer, Jared’s stomach flips.

“Might’ve been counting on that yes,” admits Jensen, absolutely unashamed, and Jared doesn’t think he can flush any redder anymore.

Jensen doesn’t stop fucking him even as the car pulls up nearby.

Blind, Jared is forced to lie there and listen. Hears one car door, two; steps in the gravel.

Jensen tells him, “Drop this if you need to stop,” and stuffs something—beads; maybe one of Jensen’s countless bracelets?—between the clutch of Jared’s fingers, and Jared nods, and Jensen kisses him on the mouth.

Kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his ear.

Keeps snapping his hips and the other two people come to a halt, then, right next to them, and Jared’s gotta focus not to hyperventilate.

A stunned, “Fuck,” and Jensen admits, proudly: “Yeah.”

“Can I…?”

Again, Jensen’s, “Yeah,” and Jared hears a zipper, and it’s all automatic from there on.

A careful, big hand to his temple. The picnic table groans.

Jared’s mouth drops open in enthusiastic compliance.

“Jesus,” and that’s not Jensen.

Is the guy feeding him his cock past the swell of his tongue, up against the back of his throat and being tender about it; reverent, like this is special, like Jared’s special.

(Jared’s got a secret-soft spot for the knowledge that Jensen talks about him, to others. Let it slip that maybe a pic or a clip made the rounds when he was a little too high, too bolstered and daring. Jared didn’t get a chance to be butthurt about it for too long.)

Jared gets his hair brushed out of his face; purses his lips to make it good, and the bondage holds him so firm to the table that he barely bounces with the power behind Jensen’s undying thrusts.

There’s a collective sigh, a relieved inhale, as the other guy starts pumping into his mouth, too.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Damn right.”

“You wanna switch?” (Jensen.)

“Yeah? Shit.”

Jensen pulls out and Jared would chase it if he could. Lies bare and fucked open, though; gets a thumb to where he’s barely-gaped by now and another rough, “Holy shit,” and that’s the last zipper going down, right there.

“Go bare. He doesn’t mind.”

“Fuck, Ackles,” and it sounds nearly scandalized, offended, but there’s the obligatory pump for lube and he’s getting a brand-new cock up his ass, perfectly hard and wide and he tenses, surprised, for the seamless push.

Jared’s knuckles go white with tension and he splutters, caught.

Hands to his hips, up his ribs, his tits.

“Fuck,” and Jensen laughs, “Told you,” and Jared garbles a moan around the cock in his throat for the rough pinches to his nipples, the deep grind to his stretched insides.

“Fuck, this is so wrong,” but they keep going.

The initial panic subsides and makes room for the too-deep thrum of reality.

This is happening. It’s happening.

Jared does his best to crane his neck but there’s nowhere to go. Immobile as he is, he’s got no use but to lie back and let them go at it as they deem fit. And they do.

The one up his ass has worked himself up to a frenzy. Slaps into him in full, long strokes that punch Jared out where it counts, that have his thighs quivering where they’re suspended in the air, has him curling his toes inside his socks, his sneakers.

He moans with that other pair of balls slapping at his cheek.

“It’s been a while for Jay here,” explains Jensen, surprisingly far-away. “We agree he’s happier that way, but if it happens, it happens.”

Footsteps; a soothing hand down Jared’s sweat-slick lower belly ends up wrenching around his junk.

He whimpers for the gush of precome; the air hitting his wet, now-exposed skin.

“One who gets him to blow gets him for a week,” and that’s a collective gut-punch Jared nearly comes for right on the spot.

Something Jensen’s shared and Jared’s almost died about. Never said _yes_ to that one just because Jensen never explicitly _asked him_ , and that makes it even more fucked up, even fucking _better_.

Jensen observes, “He’s into it,” and squeezes Jared’s balls tighter before he lets go completely.

Both guys improve their efforts and Jared splutters—too much spit, too-fast hammered punches to his ass.

He whimpers and someone praises, “Oh yeah,” and he’s gonna die, isn’t he?

From dehydration, at the very least.

Pretty sure his spirit leaves his body upon the crunch of yet another set of tires making their way towards their secluded spot.

For the first time, he’s not sure he can handle it. He doesn’t fully know what’s happening, how far he’s gonna be pushed—because Jensen, he’s practically carried him every inch of the way.

Courted him, movie and dinner and everything. Fingered him with laser-focus and heavy eyes and _that okay?_ a million times. First thing ever: _I’m a bit older, is that okay?_ and it’s never been Jared who asked for slower, or less.

Jared doesn’t even know what the guys’ faces look like, and with Jensen’s strict executions, Jensen’s attention to details, he might never find out. Just like he asked.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

“Go ahead,” from above Jared, “I can use some sloppy seconds.”

“Fuck,” and, yeah, Jared agrees.

Mourns the loss of stimulation (was just getting used to this) as the guy locks in not long after, holds himself taut and presumably empties inside of Jared’s ass—he can’t tell, all is sore and wet and hot.

Definitely feels it though when he’s pulled out of and leaks right away.

“Jesus.”

Jared hears the other guy settling in. Three. He can handle three, he thinks.

His mouth is free to catch some well-needed air. Someone’s palm smears over his messed-up face to get rid of the worst. He coughs, weakly; rough, salty fingers past his teeth, and he drops his jaw dutifully to let them dip down his throat. Purses his lips to suck them and gets a mesmerized, “Shit,” amused and bewildered and hopefully fucking turned on.

Jared just wants to do good.

Someone says, “Cute,” and there’s a thumb to his asshole, someone settling in between his legs, making themselves comfortable. One hand on the inside of his thigh, tickling the sensitive skin there and there’s the third someone crowding in as well.

Jensen hums with appreciation.

“Fucking gorgeous, Jay.”

“And I’m not even in there yet.”

Jensen comments, “Slut,” and doesn’t mean Jared, and Jared groans around three fingers as the next cock breaches him, forces him wide over the spit-slick head— _his_ spit.

“Gorgeous indeed,” and Jared can’t quite breathe around the fucking girth of it.

Maybe because there’s no added lube, but there’s enough of that waiting inside of him plus the other guy’s load, so it doesn’t _hurt_ , but…

God, he’s gonna be wasted.

“How are you still tight, huh?” and Jared whimpers, gets a there-there and a cock in his mouth to muffle his pathetic little bitch sounds.

He’d writhe in the clutch of those hands if he could.

Would try to help push down on that cock or squirm away from it, can’t decide, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

The insane weight of it settles into him like a brand; a hard, steady pulse.

“There you go, kid.”

Both hands on his hips—a handle. The guy grinds in and bumps upwards, and Jared’s caged cock blurts more wet.

Crooned, “Poor thing,” and Jared winces. Nobody’s even gonna go as far as putting a finger to his junk, won’t they?

Jared’s holding his breath on the first downstroke and goes a different kind of limp on that thrust in.

This is it. Three weeks, and this is it. He’s not gonna make it, this time.

On some stranger’s cock, not even his boyfriend’s.

The guy occupying his face dips lower to make himself comfortable up against Jared’s nose, down his gullet, and Jared can’t even make one real, deliberate noise. Fails to swallow and that sounds just as nasty as his asshole being slopped into, hollowed-out wet punches and he’s hyper-aware of his forced-small cock that desperately pushes against its barred constraints, spills clear and plentiful on every stroke to his oversensitive prostate.

Jensen’s warned him that it’s gonna be intense. That ‘it’ll hurt, in a way, but good’.

(Jensen’s got a very loose definition of ‘good pain’.)

And it’s coming, now, crawls onto him like a beast. Is gonna swallow him whole, and he won’t even be able to squirm through it. Will be held down and they’ll just handle him however they want, and there’s the other guy who hasn’t even gotten his turn yet, and, fuck.

“Oh, fuck—”

“What?”

Again, “Fuck,” and that’s the guy between his legs, the guy pumping into him too-well, too-precise, and Jared feels it, too—clenches and chokes on the dick down his throat, which doesn’t pull back, and his back spasms with violence and his body finally, inexorably seizes.

His balls throb painfully hard, hard enough it strains his asshole, his dick. Despite the cage, despite being limp and bound and everything, Jared feels himself releasing—thick, irregular bursts of come, and his dick is pointed down due to the cage and probably messes up the guy’s shirt if he’s not holding it up in precaution (Jared has no clue).

He’s fucked through it. Tries to moan but that’s to no avail, just a garbled mess when he’s pulled out of for him to get some air; and he tosses his head but they get a hold of him, turn him back and fill him right up.

He’s still not done, can feel it dribbling down his balls, is still so fucking tense and sensitive and there’s a groan, not from himself, and the guy fucking his ass turns it up another notch.

Jared clings to the fucking bracelet like a goddamn lifeline.

He doesn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want to leave this place, ever, this bliss, this heaven. So fucking out of it he doesn’t even notice the guy finishing until he pulls out, leaves Jared gaping and open and he sobs all wet as the guys rotate yet again.

Doesn’t take long for the third to bottom out on his ass, for another hand in his hair, pinning and stroking and his throat is gonna be so fucking sore, but he lets them open him up.

“What a messy boy,” and that’s Jensen, close, above him—the guy taking his mouth, and Jared manages a noise around the thick root of that cock. Somewhere between a plea and a disgustingly sweet thing he’s not ready yet outside of this fucked-up porn dream of an afternoon. “Wish you could see yourself right now.”

Jared can’t, but he’s got a feeling that he will.

“So fucking hot for us.”

Someone laughs.

“Fuck yeah.”

Jared’s body heaves with his breath. Stutters sweet upon someone (Jensen?) finding a nipple to play with, under the punishing rhythm of the guy fucking his ass. God, he feels so blown out down there, fucking flooded and sticky and so fucking swollen. Irritated from all the friction and how wrong exactly is it that he can’t wait for Jensen to nurse it better and ruin him all over again, after?

“Is it okay if I take a pic as well?”

Jensen tells them, “Hell no,” indisputable, and Jared would tear up if he wasn’t already entirely wrecked.

These are things you shouldn’t adore someone for. And yet, here they are.

“All right, all right. Got a feeling I’m gonna remember this just fine.”

More laughter. Dark, low.

“Fuck, look at that. Fucking hollowed that kid out.”

“Jesus.”

They gather between his legs and Jared does his best not to die of humiliation. Gets pulled out of and two thumbs (three? four?) push-pull next to his hole to stretch him wide, easily. Hold him open, and there’s a groan and another, “Fuck,” and, yeah, Jared can feel that gush of come seeping from deep within.

Feels his hole trying to close back up, and failing.

“Fuck.”

“Uh—round two?”

Laughter. “Dude, relax.”

“Babe, you need a break?” and a sweet thumb to the side of Jared’s mouth, into the frothed spit and slime, and Jared’s brain reels with being addressed directly, being forced to make a decision.

He croaks, “Yeah?” before his stupid body can convince him otherwise.

Jensen’s immediate, “You heard him, guys, party’s over,” and they respect that, back off and there’s a soothing hand, two, three; on his thigh, his stomach.

Jared’s lip quivers. He can’t stop it.

“Hey. Hey, babe. Shh, you’re okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. Jeff, can you—”

“Got you.”

Jared gets untied while Jensen holds him as close as he can despite the restriction. Gives Jared his chest to bury his face in for privacy, says his goodbyes to the others as they get into their cars; Jared has no interest in listening.

Everything is muffled, wrapped in cotton.

“You did so well,” praises Jensen, and that feels good. Free to move again, Jared curls inwards to sob against Jensen’s chest. “You hurt? No? Just a lot, innit? Yeah, I know. I know, baby.”

“Imma head out, take care.”

“You too, man, thanks.”

“See you around.”

The two of them are being left behind as the last of the two cars drives off. Jared is slowly coming back down. Is still clenched and shivery but can finally allow Jensen to take the blindfold off for him.

He groans for the brightness. “Fuck.”

“Should’ve brought sunscreen. You’re gonna be a goddamn lobster by tonight.”

Slurred, “That’s fine,” and wow, shit, he’s fucking _done_.

Soothing rubs to his sweaty back, into his hair. An airy kiss to the shell of his ear, and Jared helps craning his neck to get another on the mouth. Is held, here, cradled safe.

Jared’s thumb skirts across endless freckles. The perfect jut of that cheek.

Jensen tells him, “You did so fucking well, Jared Tristan,” and Jared’s stupid heart blooms just a little more for that.

~

Jensen considers the question before he decides on, “Like a goddamn jail sentence.”

Jared beams where he’s sprawled in the passenger seat. He takes another hearty slurp from his drink.

Mischievous smirk from Jensen. It pulls wrinkles around his eyes and Jared worships every single one of them. “That what you wanted to hear?”

He considers, “Don’t look _that_ young,” and shoves another handful of fries into his mouth.

Jensen counters, “Young enough,” and steals a McNugget from Jared’s lap.

There’s usually a pretty strict ban on food and drink in all of Jensen’s cars. But exceptions can be evoked for _this_ kinda stuff, apparently. It might be the greatest achievement in Jared’s life, so far.

A mix between pity and possessiveness, surely. The way Jensen looks at him—like he’s a fucking miracle, like there’s nobody allowed to see him but Jensen, now.

“Apropos. That thing with borrowing you out, that was kinda—I dunno, kinda came over me.” Fries. Jensen wipes his fingers clean on a napkin right after. “We don’t have to do that,” he says, shaking his head. “No pressure, honestly.”

Jared nods. “Okay.”

More burger. More soda. Jared burps into the back of his hand and looks for Jensen’s eyes. Takes a moment for them to fix on him.

A sly smile. “Which one was it?”

Jensen’s always-calculating eyes stay on him as they fill with amusement. God, he’s so fucking gorgeous. “I can give you his contact so you guys can figure stuff out.”

“The one who untied me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” Jared hollows his cheeks as he drinks. He’s gonna fucking burst but eating feels too good right now. He’s still flying. “He sounded nice. Kinda older, right?”

Jensen trivializes, “Just a little,” as he begins to peel his phone out of his criminally tight-fitted jeans. “Here, let me pull up his Insta.”

Jared sinks deeper into the seat and lets his head droop. Stretches his legs and cools his wood-sore cheek with the takeout-cup, eyes on Jensen, fingers dancing across strawberry-blond on the tanned forearm Jensen’s got braced on the center console.

Jensen turns his palm upwards so Jared can interlace their fingers, salty-fatty-nasty or not.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238320)!


End file.
